


The Ballad of Neglect (or Why Tony Hates His Father)

by Sweety_Bird



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Comfort, Death, Gen, Hurt, Loneliness, Neglect, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:38:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweety_Bird/pseuds/Sweety_Bird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a look into Howard Stark's neglect toward his son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ballad of Neglect (or Why Tony Hates His Father)

Hunched over the dining room table, a three year old Tony Stark considers the display in front of him with great scrutiny. Pleased, his eyes light up and he straightens. With nothing but an hour and a screwdriver, he has taken the radio from the den apart. Fit to burst with pride, he slowly and carefully clambered down from the chair he was standing on. He wanted to show his Papa, wanted his father to be proud of him. Then maybe he would watch and even help him put it back together!

His gaze searched the room and, as fate would have it, Howard Stark was walking down the hall at that exact moment with a paper rolled under his arm and a glass of scotch in his hand. Little Tony scampered after him excitedly, tugging on his trousers when he caught up. "Papa, papa! Come look," he exclaimed, tugging again with the older man's pants fisted in his chubby hand. Howard glanced down at his son for a moment before he continued walking, pulling out of his grip as he said, "Not now, Tony." As his father walked away, the toddler was left staring after him with hurt and confusion bubbling up in his chest.

Maria Stark watched all of this from the living room, her sewing momentarily forgotten. Setting it aside, she stood up and put a smile on her face, coming up behind her son and laying her hand on his head. "What is it, Tony?" She asked sweetly. Eager to show his mother, the little boy forgot his sorrow and raced over to the table. He carefully climbed up on the chair again, being meticulous about it in that way toddlers were. As Maria gushed and cooed over her son's creation, she couldn't help but feel a flicker of unease about her husband.

\------

Tony raced into the house and dumped his backpack, his cheeks flushed from running. There was a gleam in his eye and a slightly wrinkled paper clutched in his hand. It was the end of the first semester of first grade, and he had gotten his report card back. "Very good, Tony," his teacher had praised as she gave it to him. Wanting to make his father proud, the youngster raced into the living room to look for him. Howard Stark sat on the couch, one leg crossed over the other as he scribbled on a note pad. With a scowl he crossed something out, muttering a curse under his breath.

Tony trotted up and thrust the paper in his father's lap, looking expectantly at him. He could barely contain his pride as he told him, "Look, papa! We got our grades today!" The man's mustache twitched as he lifted the paper, scanning it before he paused in his searching. "You got a B in English. You'd do well to fix that," he commented bluntly, giving the paper back and returning to his work. Tony took one step back, then two, then fled the room without his father so much as noticing.

Maria Stark sat humming on her bed, folding laundry and laying it aside to be put away. It came as quite a shock when her seven year old son burst into the room, sobbing piteously and flinging himself into her lap. "What's wrong, Tony?" She asked, pulling him into her lap and cradling him to her chest. Concern and sadness for her son flared up in her chest, the familiar dull ache every mother felt when they saw their boy cry. "Papa doesn't love me anymore!" He wailed, big fat tears coarsing down his cheeks. "I got a bad grade and he doesn't love me!" Maria inhaled sharply, her gaze cutting a glare towards the door before looking down tenderly at Tony.

"He doesn't hate you," she soothed, kissing the tears away. "He just wants you to be the best you can be. Let me see," she insisted softly, tugging the paper from his grip. Smoothing it out, she trailed her vision down the line of A's and then to the single B, or the 'bad grade' as Tony put it. "This isn't bad," Maria said gently, running her fingers through his hair. "Never let anyone tell you what your own limit is. You decide what you are capable of," she whispered, kissing his cheek and pulling him close. Nestled against her, the little boy nodded and vowed never to forget her words.

\--------

Wiping sweat from his brow, Tony reached out from under his project and searched blindly until his hand wrapped around a wrench. At ten years old he was building his own motorcycle from scratch, concentrating hard and very dedicated. If he built it, he could have it, and he had so many plans and designs in mind. The engine was no problem; actually, this wasn't too hard at all. Over his pumping music, he made out the sound of a car pulling into the garage. Tony didnt spare his father a glance as he got out of the Bentley, that is, until he turned off the music. Climbing out from under the half-built bike, he glared at Howard Stark.

"Do you want something Dad?" Tony asked, his tone dripping with condescension. The inventor cleared his throat, not sure how to talk to his son. Their relationship was quite awkward for reasons he couldn't fathom, and there seemed like no way to fix it. "Son," he greeted, scratching the back of his head. "Make sure you tighten all of the bolts. Otherwise it'll just fall apart," he said finally, turning and walking in the house. Tony just scowled after him, feeling an intense dislike surge up as he turned back to his bike. "Right, because I didnt know that," he muttered snidely.

\--------

"Lift your arm. Up. That's it," Tony prompted, watching the little bot in front of him comply after some coaxing. He was nearly finished with high school at age 16, and because it was so boringly easy, he had begun his own project. Using a computer he had modified himself (because really, this sort of software was way too slow for him) he had begun programming a small self-built robot to think for itself and follow commands. Rubbing his chin, the teenager deleted a line of coding and replaced it with fast fingers on the keys, looking back at the robot again. He was about to tell it to turn in a circle when his door opened, casting the shadow of a tall man over his creation.

Tony pretended not to notice his father, tapping the bot with his pencil. "Rotate, ninety degrees left," he ordered, watching it process before complying with his orders. "Shouldn't you be studying?" Came Howard's voice; the pencil in Tony's hand broke. "Why should you care?" The teenager spit vehemently back, glaring daggers at him. Unmoved, the inventor stared down at him calculatingly. "Your academics are important. Stop wasting your time with these toys." With that the door shut, just in time for a shoe to bounce off it. Later that night, Tony would get drunk for the first time and decide that he liked the feeling.

\-------

"Mr. Stark, its great to meet you. I wish it wasn't under such depressing circumstances.." Tony waved the man silent, studying a ring on his right hand silently. Nineteen years old, and his parents were dead. He felt like he ought to be upset or something but.. He wasnt. Sure, he was devastated about his mother, but he could only feel a dark rage within him. Of course he had killed her. Maybe not directly, but drunk driving? He might as well have shot her, the- "Mr. Stark? If this is a bad time, we can reschedule." Tony shook his head; better to do it now.

"Well sir, it looks like you've quite the fortune to inherit. About four billion, give or take," the man began, scanning the two wills in front of him. "Your mother left you her book collection- she said you would know which one?" Tony simply nodded, he remembered. He would escape into those books as a child and disappear, getting away from the drunken cloud that was his father. "Apart from a few other objects and possessions, she donated the rest to the children's hospital." Again he nodded; he had known this. His mother was a generous person.

"And.. My father?" He asked after a moment, his gaze locking with that of the lawyer. The man swallowed, feeling unnaturally trapped under the gaze as he looked back down at Howard Stark's will. "Besides the money? Nothing. He donated his work to an organization called the Strategic-" he got no further, because the chair opposite him was empty, and his door had swung shut with a slam.


End file.
